


i don't need you

by jimtiberiuskirk



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mickey POV, Not Canon Compliant, ian and mickey meet earlier than canon, lots of swearing, misogynist language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 04:00:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jimtiberiuskirk/pseuds/jimtiberiuskirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey doesn't want Ian Gallagher anywhere near him, but Ian is terribly persistent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i don't need you

Mickey knew he was a fucking asshole, and he wanted everyone to know that too. He spoke in violence and blood and the swing of his bat and he didn't want to let _anyone_ near him. If anyone touched him he wanted it to be in anger or in lust or in fury but he didn't want it - or need it - to be in love. Mickey was thirteen years old.

Everyone knew who the Gallagher's were but Mickey had shit all to do with them - as long as they didn't do anything to fuck with him or his family, he left them alone. He kept an eye on them though. You never really knew when someone was going to screw you over. (Mickey learned this fast.)

He saw Fiona and Lip and Debbie and Carl and Liam and _Ian_ and it wasn't like Mickey was _jealous_ of their family or anything but sometimes he thought of them when Terry was slamming his head into the kitchen cabinets. Mickey didn't _dwell_ though. He wasn't a fucking pussy - he wiped off the blood and picked up a hammer and went on with his goddamn day. It didn't matter that _family_ had a different definition to him; as long as it was one that made sense.

When Mickey was fourteen, he banged some girl in the school bathrooms right beside the sink. Class was in session so he didn't really count on anyone walking in on them (and so what if they did) but then Ian Gallagher ran in, slamming the door behind him and eyes widening at what was going on in front of him.

"What the fuck, Gallagher?" Mickey yelled as the bitch shoved him away from her and started dressing as fast as she could, making herself small and edging away from him. "Can't you see I was in the middle of something?"

"Clearly," Gallagher snarled, before widening his eyes again. "I mean - sorry."

"Tell that to my balls," Mickey muttered, tugging his pants back up. "Jesus."

Ian's eyes flicked downwards and lingered for a beat too long.

"Are you queer or some shit?" Mickey said, mouth twisting into something dark. "Is that why you came bursting in here huh? Hoping for some material for your spank bank?"

"Shit - _no_ ," Ian said. "I was just trying to lose someone on my tail alright? I had no fucking idea I was going to walk in on _that_."

"Whatever," Mickey said. "Get the fuck out of my way. I've got shit to do."

"Shit to do or people to do?" Gallagher said under his breath, quiet but not quiet enough for Mickey to not pick it up.

Mickey gave a short burst of unamused laughter. "You asking for it, Gallagher? I've got a knife with your name on it."

"You've got a knife with Ian on it?" Gallagher quipped.

"Are you fucking serious?" Mickey said, and shoved Gallagher against the wall. He fisted his hand in Gallagher's shirt, pulling it up and away from his body. "You ever heard of the Milkovich's, huh, Gallagher?"

"Yeah," Gallagher choked. "I'm not scared of you."

"You fucking should be." Mickey was so close to Gallagher's face , and he couldn't help it when he dropped his gaze down to his lips for just a second. It was enough for Gallagher to fucking _lick his lips_ and it was enough for Mickey to follow the movement.

Gallagher grinned widely, chuckling. "I don't think so."

"Oh yeah?" Mickey stepped back and punched Gallagher in the stomach, causing him to slide to the ground and groan.

The groan went right to Mickey's dick. Fuck, _no._

"Don't come near me again," Mickey said, spitting at the general direction of Gallagher's body and freaking slamming the door behind him.

He needed to get his goddamn hands on a gun.

 

Ian Gallagher did not stay away from Mickey. Instead, he became best friends with Mandy, and they were always fucking hanging around each other, painting nails or some shit. Mandy had such an obvious hard-on for Gallagher, not that he could see it. His eyes met Mickey's every single time they saw each other and he was _amused_.

This was not what Mickey knew. Mickey knew hatred, he knew when someone's eyes met him in fear. He didn't need some redheaded punk making him feel something different when he saw the world in such a safe black and white.

"Hey," Gallagher drawled, lifting his head a bit in acknowledgement. He showed up on the Milkovich's doorstep, wrapped up in three layers and a scarf, cheeks flushed. Mickey wanted to punch him in the face.

"What do you want?" Mickey spat out.

"Mandy home?" Gallagher said. "We're meant to be hanging."

"Nah," Mickey said. "She's not here." He smirked. "Out banging some guy probably."

"Really?" Gallagher said, raising his eyebrows. "Can I come in and wait for her then?"

"Whatever," Mickey said, throwing his arms up before opening the door further. "Be my fucking guest."

"Thanks," Gallagher said, "anyone else home?"

"Nope," Mickey said, stomping his way down the hallway to his room. "Run."

"Why didn't you go with them?" Gallagher yelled, opening the fridge.

"Hey!" Mickey yelled, tramping into the kitchen. "Get your fucking hands off my stuff. Did you buy any of this shit, huh?"

"Did you?" Gallagher shot back.

"No, but it took fucking effort alright?" Mickey said, nearly shutting the door on Gallagher's hand. "Just because your family is poor as shit doesn't mean you need to be here stealing my food."

"Everyone here is _poor as shit,_ Mickey," Gallagher said, rolling his eyes. "God. Are you always this angry?"

Mickey snorted. "This ain't me angry, Gallagher."

"Wow." Gallagher breathed out. "This is you _pleasant_?"

"What are you on about?" Mickey said. " _Pleasant_? What are we on, fucking Gossip Girl or something?"

Gallagher burst out laughing. "How the hell do you know about Gossip Girl? Jesus, you secretly into that crap?"

"Fuck off. I'm not a homo."

"Did I say you were?" Gallagher said, shrugging. "You wanna hang while I wait?"

" _Hang_?" Mickey repeated.

"Yeah, you know," Gallagher said. This time Mickey could feel the hesitance. "Maybe watch a movie or something. Hey, we could even watch Gossip Girl if you wanted." Gallagher grinned.

"You serious?" Mickey said, pushing himself away from the counter. "I got better shit to do."

"Yeah?" Gallagher said. "Like what? I really don't think you do."

"You're such a little shit," Mickey said. "How do you not have a fucking split lip like, permanently?"

"You're catching me on a good day," Gallagher said. His lips were quirked up into a smile that seemed so _secret_ , like he knew what Mickey wanted. And fuck, Mickey thought he did know. He was _pushing_ it, and he was so fucking torn. Years of twisting this desire into oblivion, into a place he didn't have to reach, buried underneath bravado and rage and sticking his dick into any bitch that would go near him and all it took was Ian fucking Gallagher's lips to jerk it out.

There was a long pause, too long for it not to mean something, and Gallagher fucking launches himself at him, pushing him against the wall (just like in that bathroom years and years ago Mickey didn't forget) and pressing his lips against Mickey's. It was bruising, it was the kind of kiss that Mickey knew, and he pushed back. Tongue and teeth and pent up frustration, Gallagher's hand lifting one of his arms above him, encircling his wrist.

_God,_ it felt so good, it felt like the first time he ever fired a gun. Then Gallagher fucking reached down to palm his dick through his pants and it was like a shock to his system. He shoved Gallagher away, panting, watching as Gallagher looked at him with wrecked lips and messed up red hair and a look of _fear_.

This was the first time Mickey could remember that Ian Gallagher had looked at him like that.

"Get out of my fucking house." Mickey curled his hands into fists, breathing so heavily it felt like he'd just run away from the cops. "Get out."

"Mickey -"

"Are you a fucking idiot? Get out!" Mickey kicked the set of drawers in front of him, making Gallagher flinch. "Get _out!_ "

"Don't do this -"

"What _exactly_ am I doing, Gallagher?" Mickey snarled. " _I_ think what I'm fucking doing is kicking some queer out of my house for _jumping_ me! You're fucking lucky I don't round up my team and beat the shit out of you."

" _You are_ a fucking coward," Gallagher spat out.

"Don't ever call me that again. If you ever come near me again, I'm giving you that fucking split lip."

Gallagher left. Mickey grabbed a bat.

 

 

Two weeks later, Mickey cornered Gallagher under the bleachers.

"No kissing," Mickey said. "Take your clothes off."

 

 

Nothing good ever happened on the Southside, and Mickey didn't know whether it'd be shittier or better after his old man kicked the bucket.

No one really knew how it happened so Mickey and his brothers had no one to terrorise, and Mickey didn't even know if he'd do it. Maybe he would, but only because he would be expected to. His brothers were full of talk of vengeance and whatever but Mickey just didn't really give a shit who did it.

Naturally, Gallagher treated it like it was some fucking big deal.

"Hey," Gallagher said. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fucking alright," Mickey snorted. "You think I gave a shit about him?"

"He's your dad."

"Yeah? You give a shit about Frank?"

Gallagher sighed. "We talking about me now?"

"Well we sure as shit ain't talking about me," Mickey said, taking a swig from his bottle. He planned on getting thoroughly _pissed_ tonight, and he didn't care if Gallagher wanted to join in or not, as long as he didn't hold Mickey back. He wasn't his _boyfriend_. He didn't need _protecting_. "Why aren't you letting Mandy cry on your freaking shoulder?"

"She's got Lip," Gallagher replied.

"Yeah, but bet she ain't _crying_ ," Mickey said, snorting.

"They're going out, I'm sure they do other things besides fuck, alright?" Gallagher said.

"Yeah? Your brother brings her some place special? Wine and dine?"

Gallagher gave a short laugh. "So what if they do? You think Mandy doesn't deserve it?"

Mickey huffed. "I'm sure your brother has already figured out that you don't need'a do shit to get Mandy to put out."

"Mhmm."

"Anyways," Mickey said, pointing the almost-empty bottle at him, "I don't need you getting any fucking ideas about that fancy shit."

Ian froze.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"You don't need me getting any ideas?" Gallagher said. "You mean - we're going out?"

Mickey laughed. "Yeah Gallagher - you're my _laaaaady_."

"Asshole," Gallagher muttered, shoving his shoulders into Mickey's. "Can I - Can I kiss you?"

And Mickey - Mickey had set some _rules_ , okay, back when this all started. No kissing. No fucking ' _babe'_ or ' _honey'_ or any of that shit. No feelings. No _cuddling_. No sleeping together after fucking. And Ian knew that. It wasn't like they made some list or anything it was just there. Unspoken. But Gallagher had been pushing the barriers since day one, since Mickey had been thirteen. Mickey was now seventeen and his dad had just died.

"Fuck, Gallagher," Mickey said, before curling his arm around Ian's neck and pushing it towards him. Mickey was on the hazier side of drunk and he just wanted to narrow down the sensation to Ian's tongue against his and his dick grinding against Mickey and holy shit -

" _Mickey_ ," Ian groaned when Mickey shoved his hand down his boxers. "Jesus."

"Fuck me," Mickey demanded, jerking Ian off rougher than he needed to, no fucking finesse, but Mickey knew he was gagging for it. "You better fuck me right _now_ , Gallagher."

" _Yeah_ ," Ian breathed. "Mickey I think I -"

"Hey, Firecrotch," Mickey interrupted. "You gonna fuck me or what?"

Mickey could feel Ian's laughter at the back of his neck. "Firecrotch?"

"Just saying how I see it," Mickey said, turning around and glancing deliberately down Ian's body.

"Alright, alright," Ian said. He leaned in close to Mickey's ear and whispered, "this one's for Terry."

Mickey growled a little. Gallagher was _lucky_ that his dick was currently buried in his ass, or he would have probably punched that smirk smile off his lips if he'd ever said that to Mickey at any other time. 

Mickey didn't say anything.

 

 

Two days later, Ian Gallagher caught Mickey getting thrown out of some whore's house, half-clothed. Mickey was so fucking drunk that he could barely make out Ian's face, his features manipulated into something ugly. Angry. Jealous. An expression Mickey knew.

"Have fun?" Gallagher yelled across the street, hands tucked inside his pockets. "Did you tip well?"

Mickey crossed the street, taking a joint out of his pocket and lighting up. "Fuck off, Gallagher. I don't pay."

"Don't tell me to _fuck off_ ," Ian said. (And when did Mickey start thinking of him as _Ian_ as often as he did? When?) He lowered his voice. "Was this about - about what I nearly said?"

"Don't give a shit," Mickey said. He took another hit. "Gonna go shoot some shit. Wanna come?"

"Jesus, Mickey. You can't handle a gun like this."

"Yeah I can, shitface," Mickey said, rolling his eyes. "This is _America_."

Ian snorted. "That gun you own isn't legal."

Mickey shrugged. "Don't make me repeat myself, Gallagher. You think I give a shit?"

"Mickey -" Ian looked so fucking frustrated, Mickey wanted to laugh in his face.  "The other night. I dunno. I thought we were getting somewhere. I thought you wanted to _be_ with me."

"We are _not_ fucking boyfriends. You wanna hold someone's hand? Find someone else."

"I'm not -" Ian closed his eyes for a few seconds. "We don't need to be boyfriends. We don't need a label. I just want you to fucking _make up your mind_ about how you feel about me."

Mickey laughed. "Jesus, Gallagher. You wanna go get your nails done now too?"

" _Mickey_."

"What do you want me to fucking say?" Mickey said. "I like fucking you. I like fucking other people. You're nothing but a _warm mouth_."

"Are you..." Ian shoved his hands back into his pockets. It looked like he was trying to control himself. "Fine. Okay. You were really shitty for me anyway, Mickey. _Look at me_. You don't come crawling back. We're done."

"That's fine with me, Firecrotch," Mickey said nonchalantly, looking away already.

He didn't want to see what was in Ian's eyes.

 

 

Mickey let loose, fists into noses and feet into ribs, hearing the pleas and the groans and eating it up.

_Don't be a faggot_.

Kick.

_Don't be a pussy._

Punch.

_Be a fucking man._

"Mickey!"

Mandy's voice stilled his arm, and he turned around. Mandy was with Ian, her arm wrapped around his waist. He looked fucking perky, as if he was doing _fine_ without Mickey. Probably already fucking another closet case, who the hell knows how many of them there were around here. 

"Give it a fucking rest," Mandy said, rolling her eyes. "You've been on the rag for like two weeks now."

"You calling me a girl?" Mickey said through gritted teeth. He refused to look at Gallagher.

Mandy smirked. "Please. You'd be so lucky. Go _home_."

"Didn't know you cared, _sis_ ," Mickey said.

"Go home."

Mickey still didn't want to look at Ian.

All he could hear were the words of his _fucking dead father,_ tearing into Mickey from the grave. He would be so happy.

 

 

 

_"I hate you."_

_Ian Gallagher was running his fingertips down the edge of Mickey's face, barely touching skin. Delicate. Ian was too good for Mickey, he was so fucking pure next to Mickey's filth. He made the best of his shitty situation and Mickey made the worst of it._

_"No." Mickey gritted his teeth. "You don't."_

_"I do," Ian said. "Sometimes you make me feel the best I've ever felt, and sometimes you make me feel like I'm left in the gutter. Did you hear what I said? You make me feel like trash."_

_"Gallagher -"_

_"Shut_ up. _And listen to me for once. Okay? Just listen." Ian dug his fingernails into Mickey's cheek. "You see how quickly it  can turn? That's what you do to me."_

_The fingernails were long, and they hurt._

_"Does it hurt?" Ian whispered._

_Mickey didn't say anything._

_"The worst part is," Ian said. His eyes were sad. "I don't know which one you like more."_

_He stopped digging his fingernails in, once more resorting to the soft touches. "Do you like this? Or do you like the pain?"_

_"I don't fucking know!"_

_"Come to me when you figure it out," Ian said._

Mickey woke up, breathing hard. He ran a sweaty palm down his face. All his fucking life he'd been treated the same by other people - he was a _Milkovich_ for god sake. White trash through and through, people knew what to expect. People from the neighbourhood knew, snotty white rich kids from uptown knew. They didn't even need to know his name. _They just knew_. And Mickey was, in a lot of ways, exactly what they expected. There was one thing they had wrong though. He didn't just _do what he want_. And for once, Mickey thought he should.

 

 

When Mickey showed up at the Gallagher house, it wasn't Ian that opened the door. It was Debbie.

At least that's what Mickey thought her name was - it's not like he was a fucking expert on Gallagher's or anything after all - but he wasn't deaf. She had Liam propped on her hip (Jesus when did he get that big) and a very unimpressed look on her face.

"Yes?"

"Ian home?" Mickey said, peering around her. She had the door open at the smallest crack possible, and possibly a baseball bat around the door.

"Yeah." Debbie lifted her head indignantly. "What's it to you?"

"Just wanna talk to him, jeez," Mickey said. "None of your fucking business anyway."

"Uh, I _think_ that if you're going to beat my brother up, then it _is_ my business," Debbie said.

"Debs?" Ian's voice leaked through the crack of the door. "Who are you talking to?"

"A Milkovich," Debbie said. "Not Mandy."

"Mickey?" Ian said, rushing down the stairs. "Jesus. Mickey."

"Hey, Gallagher," Mickey said. "You wanna hang?"

"I got better shit to do," Ian said.

"Just fucking come with me, come _on_ , Gallagher," Mickey said.

"Ian, do you want me to get -"

"It's okay, Debs," Ian said. "You take care of Liam, I'll be right back alright?"

"Okay," Debbie said, eyeing Mickey suspiciously as they left the house after Ian ran his hand over the top of Liam's head.

"Yeah?" Ian said. He was so determined not to look at Mickey, his eyes on the ground. But Mickey knew that Ian was invested in the conversation already because Mickey knew Ian. Ian was leaning in to Mickey, his fingernails digging into his palm. Jesus. His _fingernails_.

Mickey was never good with words. No one taught him how to be good with words - his brothers were dumb fucks with the IQ of an ant, his dad's vocabulary was so small it was a wonder Mickey knew words other than ones spat out with hostility, and Mandy, well. School was the biggest fucking joke, the curriculum at the closest high school already treating them like deadbeats, not like students. He had no talent for them but that had never mattered. This was the first time in his life that he wished he knew how to use his words. That was a recurring theme when it came to Ian - firsts, firsts and more firsts.

"I said a lot of shit I didn't mean," Mickey said, finally. "You're not -"

"Don't have to make it sound like a chore," Ian muttered.

"Fuck you," Mickey said, shoving him a bit. "You know I'm not good at this crap."

"What crap?" Ian said, raising his eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know," Mickey said, running a palm over his face. "Fuck, I don't know. I just don't want you to -"

"Don't want me to what?" Ian prompted.

"To go." Mickey felt like his heart was going to fly out of his fucking chest. "Don't -"

"Mickey," Ian said, finally looking at him like he was _worth_ something. Like Mickey was worth his time. The look on his face made Mickey's heart slow, just a little, feeling a sense of a familiarity still his fingers. "Is there anyone at your place?"

"Maybe," Mickey said, racking his brain. "Yeah, I don't know - maybe Mandy?"

"She's out with Lip," Ian said. He smiled a little. "Let's go."

Mickey followed Ian to his house, and once he was inside he felt claustrophobic. This was so out of his realm, this is not _who_ he was, he couldn't do this. He was a thug, white trash, a thief. Maybe he could be everything - could he be that selfish, could he have everything?

"So." Ian sat down on his bed, and it made some part of Mickey ache. "I want to show you something."

Ian brought out a piece of paper, wrinkled and folded so many times it looked like he carried it around with him _everywhere_.

"Yeah?" Mickey said.

"It's this - I was feeling really shitty after you know, that conversation and I did this. It's some really fucking stupid list and here. Read it."

Ian shoved it at Mickey, and he took it without  looking at it.

"What the fuck is this?"

"Read it."

"No," Mickey said. "You tell me."

"Why can't you just read -"

"I don't want to hear it from some fucking piece of paper, alright, Gallagher? I want to hear it from _you_."

Ian laughed. "Well, basically it's just all the ways you're shitty and unhealthy for me and why I should like, join the army early and never see you again. Okay? That's the list."

"Fuck," Mickey said, breathing out. "Why the hell would I want to see that?"

"Because, I just. I just started thinking of all the things I feel when I'm around you. Do you know how fucking shitty you look on paper? You've been in juvie like five times and you beat the crap out of people. But, fuck." Ian's voice shook. "I _love_ you. Okay, Milkovich? You got it out of me. So are you going to punch me now? Pretend you don't love me back?" His gaze met Mickey's squarely. "I've replayed this scenario a million times in my head, all different. And none of them have you reacting well."

"Didn't you hear me the first time, shithead?" Mickey said. "Don't. Go."

"What the hell does that even mean?" Ian said.

Mickey shook his head in frustration. How was he supposed to - how could he _not_ screw this up?

Mickey felt his hand inch closer towards where Ian's was lying between them on the bed, and he hesitantly covered on of Ian's fingers with one of his. It wasn't - it wasn't much, but it was all he could deal with right now. "It means. You. Here. With me."

"Jesus, Mickey," Ian said. "Am I that hot? Do I make you unable to form sentences?" A slow grin spread on his face.

"Shut up, asshole," Mickey said.

Ian grinned harder. "You're the asshole - this is. I didn't fucking want you to change who you _were_ or anything Mickey, I just needed to hear it. Okay? I don't need us to come out or for you to take me to Olive Garden. I just need to hear it sometimes."

"Gallagher, I feel like my dick is shrivelling up, God."

"Does that mean I can't blow you?"

This time, it was Mickey who grinned. "Have at it, Firecrotch."

Ian leaned forward, and pressed one close-mouthed kiss to Mickey's lips. It went on for a few seconds, no intent for anything more, and something in Mickey loosened. Ian Gallagher - _his_ fucking Gallagher.

 

It was the first time Mickey knew that someone loved him. Jesus, it was the first time he ever wanted anyone to touch him like this - like _love_. Mickey was eighteen years old.

**Author's Note:**

> written pretty quickly at the end of a really long shameless marathon, totally unedited. hope you liked it anyway! (i needed a universe where these two end up on the same page.)


End file.
